


the rapture of distress

by ozonecologne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Dean Winchester, Crisis of Faith, Drowning, Human Castiel, Hunter Castiel, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10056455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozonecologne/pseuds/ozonecologne
Summary: Castiel swung his legs around the edge of the bed and leaned forward, setting the eggs aside. He briefly entertained the notion of patting Dean’s knee, so close to his own now, before deciding against it.Holding hands in your sleep is weird enough."Whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't the end of the world," he consoled, wiping some grease from his mouth.Dean looked up then, and he remained guiltily silent.Castiel’s eyebrows shot up, up, up, along with his heart rate. His breakfast stuck like glue in his throat. "The end of the world?"Dean winced. "I'm working on it."-A reverse!verse AU in which Castiel is a hunter and he’s visited by an angel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Liesl,](http://www.consultingcas.tumblr.com) I hope the fic is everything you hoped for! Thank you for prompting reverse!verse at me; I had a blast writing it even if it did take me like a whole year.  
>  Credit for the beautiful image goes to [goldminegoldmine](http://www.goldminegoldmine.tumblr.com).  
> More beautiful art by deadpai [here!](http://www.deadpai.tumblr.com/post/53488822144/reverseverse)  
> Title comes of course from Auden’s “In Memory of W.B. Yeats” - Sing of human unsuccess / In a rapture of distress;/ In the deserts of the heart / Let the healing fountain start,/ In the prison of his days / Teach the free man how to praise.
> 
> Note about the first line in the endnotes.

 

_Don’t spaz out._

The voice appeared in Castiel's head as suddenly as a clap of thunder, beautiful and stern. In his surprise, his hands clenched around the bag of chips hidden under his jacket so that it crinkled sharply, the sound only slightly muffled by the thick material of his sweater. He quickly glanced over at the cashier to make sure he hadn't noticed him huddled away in the corner of the store.

He shuffled out of the sad-looking Gas 'n Sip before he could draw any more attention to himself and quickly turned left behind the air machine, into the thin line of brush shielding a few errant picnic tables.

He ignored the voice as he walked. His heart pounded out a learned and familiar rhythm: not afraid not afraid not afraid.

_I just want to talk, Castiel._

Castiel squeezed his eyes together tightly, too tightly, and hummed. He tried to remember the sound of the ocean, or the feeling of wind through his fingers as his hand trailed out of an open car window, but nothing stuck in his mind but static. His teeth rattled in their sockets and he tasted fire at the back of his throat.

He tossed the bag of chips onto a table with peeling paint and put his fingers down against the edge to rest, to shake his head out and hope that this was just another nightmare.

Movement in the branches caught his eye. Bright light, like oncoming headlights, washed over him. He could only sway helplessly and crash down into the seat of the picnic table as his eyes watered. He threaded his hands through his hair and tugged. The voice that he had so dearly hoped he'd imagined came to him again.

_I’m one of the Lord’s heavenly angels, from on high above, holy sword of His might, yadda yadda and I have come to you in a time of need._

"Please stop shouting," Castiel groaned quietly.

_You can understand me?_

Castiel flexed his jaw. His eardrums popped with the motion. Answering was probably a mistake. "Yes."

_Cool._

And then suddenly, he was not alone.

The molten pain in his temples receded. Castiel blinked at the new figure seated across from him, frowning at the bag of stolen chips that lay between them.

"Hi there," the man said.

Castiel blinked. His vision was still kind of spotty. "Hello."

The man smiled at the greeting, soft and easy, and twin eyes of green were the first things that came into focus. He wore a suit jacket over a clean pressed shirt, and a red striped tie. His hair was parted neatly to the side. Freckles dotted randomly underneath the brilliant eyes that crinkled a little at their corners. "My name is Michael."

"I'm Castiel,” he replied. “But you knew that."

Michael just sat there, silent. Watching Castiel as if expectant.

"Oh," Castiel realized self-consciously. "THE Michael. Angel Michael."

Michael nodded patiently. "Archangel," he corrected, a hint of smugness in his voice. “Dig it.”

Castiel reached out to drag the chip bag closer to himself. "So this is what an archangel looks like?" he asked. He popped open the seal on the bag just to have something to do with his shaking hands. He had to say, Heaven certainly didn't disappoint.

Michael's eyes flicked down to track the motion, but darted back up again just as quickly. "Not really. This guy – Dean Smith – he volunteered to be my vessel for a while."

Castiel pulled out a single chip, but his hand paused halfway to his mouth. "You're possessing someone?"

"I got permission,” the angel replied defensively. “And it’s only for a second."

Castiel bit down on his snack. Chewed. Licked his lips.

"Do you mind if I call you 'Dean' instead, then?"

Michael – Dean, the person whose face he spoke to – shrugged. "Whatever works for you, buddy."

Castiel swallowed. Dean's eyes flicked down to the chip bag again.

With some hesitation, Castiel offered, "Would you like one?"

"No thanks," Dean declined, still staring. "I'm just here on business."

 _This is exceedingly strange,_ Castiel thought to himself. _Even for the kind of life I live._

"No kidding," Dean answered, as if Castiel had spoken the thought aloud. He tore his eyes away to look back into Castiel's eyes. "You're taking it pretty well, though. Considering. I mean, I'm surprised you haven't tried to waste me yet."

Castiel picked up another chip. "Is that a common reaction?"

"Some people try to kill us on sight, yeah. Think I'm full of shit."

Castiel shrugged. "If you really are an archangel, I doubt that I have anything on me that would hurt you," he explained.

"You'd be right," Dean said, eyes darkening.

Castiel swallowed. "So what's this about, Dean?"

Dean's mouth ticked to the side briefly, probably in reaction to the name. "You've got something I need."

Castiel frowned and wiped the flavor dust from the chips on the front of his jacket. "Couldn't you just take it from me?"

"I'm not that kind of guy. We’re all about consent upstairs."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Well, what is it?"

Dean leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest. He stuck his chin out. "That amulet around your neck."

Castiel's hand flew up to toy with the edge of the pendant – a lost, chipped thing that he had rescued from a dark, abandoned place long ago. He was oddly fond of it, the comforting weight against his chest as he traveled. "What for?"

"It’s… important," Dean said, sharpness creeping into his voice. His gentle smile had long since vanished. "And I need it, like, now."

Castiel sighed, weighed his options, and reluctantly began to remove the cord from around his neck. He passed it to Dean one-handed.

Sparks jumped between their fingers as their hands brushed, but Castiel didn’t recoil.

"Thanks," Dean said, and then Castiel was alone again.

He sat at their picnic table for a long time, eating his chips and staring off into the middle distance while the fingers on his right hand went on tingling.

That would surely be the end of it. What could an angel want with an ordinary hunter like Castiel, anyway?

 

Dean popped in again while Castiel was urinating against the back wall of an alley.

"Cas- _dude!_ "

Castiel turned his head, only to find Dean averting his. "What?"

"Put it away! Come on, man, I got heavenly business to disclose!"

Castiel zipped back up and frowned at the angel, still shifty and uncomfortable if the tense set of his shoulders was anything to go by. A bandaged cut on Castiel's forehead - a parting gift from a ghoul hunt two days prior - stung and pulled with the motion. "You're a transcendent, primordial being. Nudity isn't supposed to bother you," he argued. "Besides, _you_ came to _me_."

Dean waved a hand. "Yeah, I got it. Next time I'll knock."

Castiel stepped to the side to avoid the puddle on the ground, which unfortunately put him a little closer to Dean while he zipped up his pants. A faint buzzing pulsed in his chest like a bass beat if he got too close.

"You have 'business to disclose' to me?" he prompted.

Dean stepped back, putting some more distance between them.

"Um. Yes."

He cleared his throat, shook his head, and nodded more firmly.

"Yeah. Turns out I actually need your help."

Castiel crossed his arms expectantly, and Dean held up the amulet. It was in exactly the same condition that it was in when Castiel had first handed it over; a little nicked, a little worn, but smooth along the edges and warmly colored.

"It doesn't work for me," Dean confessed.

Castiel tilted his head. "I wasn't aware that it was supposed to do anything."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't be. Its purpose isn't obvious to humans. But I think my grace stops me from... Look, long story short, I need you to help me work it."

Castiel frowned, but snatched the necklace from Dean's grasp nonetheless. "I have my own life to live," he objected. "I can't be following you around to wherever it is that you go." He had two messages from Naomi sitting in his voicemail that very morning, in fact. Like clockwork, that one: always keeping him busy.

Dean scoffed. "Oh, I'm sorry, is it like anyone is going to miss you?"

Castiel shrunk down on himself. Dean knew fully well what his answer was going to be. "No."

"Well, good, so let's get to it," Dean demanded. He thrust the amulet at him roughly. "This is more important than whatever you were doing anyway."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and gripped the pendant tight in his hand. It was cold to the touch. "That's rude of you."

A stormy look passed across Dean’s brow, a shadow of wrath and might. "Do I look like I'm going to _apologize_ to you? Human?"

That last word was uttered with such derision, such contempt and condescension, that all Castiel could think to do was slump.

"We're driving,” he announced.

Dean only blinked. "But –"

Castiel hooked the amulet over his head, the tiny figurehead settling close to his heart where it belonged. "If we have to do this the human way, we're taking my car. Someone needs to look after it," Castiel said.

Dean turned his head towards the mouth of the alley and sneered, but he didn’t reply.

So Castiel stepped around him and walked back to his old and faithful car - which was in perfectly fine shape, thank you.

He didn't hear any footsteps behind him, but then, did an angel's feet ever really touch the ground? Based on his conduct, Dean at least seemed to think that his didn't.

He was waiting in the passenger seat when Castiel approached.

"Do you have any of those chips left?" Dean asked grumpily, as he slouched into his seat.

Castiel shut the door behind him and frowned. "Dean, that was over three months ago."

Dean grunted. "So that's a no?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, and turned the key in the ignition. Who knew archangels could be so... petulant?

“Would you like me to stop somewhere and get you some?” he asked, calmly, like he would speak to a child.

With a pout, Dean turned to face the window. “No,” he sulked.

Castiel tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried very hard to keep from rolling his eyes.

 

“I’ve traveled the width of this country dozens of times in my life,” he said, once he regained enough of his composure that he felt he could engage the angel in conversation again. “So where would you like me to take you?”

Dean was fiddling with the radio dials on Castiel’s dashboard, frowning again. “We’re visiting places of faith. Landmarks with strong pulls of prayer,” Dean told him.

Castiel frowned. “I don’t know many places like that.”

“‘S okay,” Dean replied. “I’ve got built-in radar,” he said, tapping his temple. “I’ll let you know when we get close.”

 _I think this is how most of the Bible stories start,_ Castiel thought to himself.

“Don’t you have anything good to listen to?” Dean snapped, changing the radio station for the hundredth time. “Any Zeppelin cassettes or anything?”

He peered around his feet, as if they would be conveniently stashed there for him. He popped open the glove compartment and only found creased papers and boxes of false identification.

Castiel tsked. “No one uses cassettes anymore.”

“Why not?” Dean asked. “Last time I was on Earth they were all the rage.”

Castiel slid his eyes over to Dean, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The last time you were on Earth was in the 1970s?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “It was a good time.”

That explained the odd turns of phrase, at least. “The Beatles broke up.”

“Disneyland opened,” Dean replied. “Happiest place on Earth.”

Castiel bit the inside of his cheek. “Have you ever been to Disneyland?”

“Once,” Dean said. “I hated it.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t doubt it. My sister and I went once too, but –”

He cut himself off with a quiet click of his teeth, swallowing hard against the sudden onslaught of memory. The way that Anna’s hair shone like fire beneath that stupid hat with the ears, the music and her laughter mingling together, the drop in his stomach as a rollercoaster went down its tracks and he grabbed her hand in his, afraid to fall –

“But what?” Dean asked, still looking put out in the direction of the radio.

Castiel shook his head. He should have been able to talk about his sister without feeling a lump in his throat like that.

“But I got heat stroke and had to rest in our hotel room for the next two days,” Castiel finished. “We very nearly didn’t catch the tulpa that was roaming the grounds.”

Dean grinned. “Human imagination,” he snorted, as if sharing a private joke.

Castiel ignored him. “Is Disneyland one of these ‘places of faith’ you mentioned?” he asked, making quotes around the phrase with one hand.

Dean tilted his head. “Huh. You know, might be. Way decent, Cas.”

“We aren’t anywhere near there,” he said.

“Plenty of other places to be,” Dean assured, almost too pleasantly.

Castiel so desperately wanted to ask; he could feel the questions bubbling up in his throat, buzzing behind his teeth just waiting to be spoken. _What’s going on what’s Heaven like do you have wings what about a halo why me why now why here_. But he held his tongue and just stepped a little firmer on the gas. Perhaps it was not his place to demand answers of angels. Perhaps he didn’t actually want to know.

 

Dean led him onto the I-70, cruising west, and informed him that it would take approximately 17 hours at their current speed to get to their first stop. Frowning and squinting into the setting sun, Castiel informed him right back that they would be stopping at a motel along the way to rest. Dean seemed irritated by the thought of extending their journey, but relented soon enough. “You could just find another human to follow you around,” Castiel suggested. “A more devout one, perhaps.”

Dean leaned his head back against the seat and sighed. “The amulet came to you. It can’t be anyone else.”

Castiel frowned deeper, but didn’t argue. Dean settled into his seat and closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, breathing in the dust of the open road.

They stopped at a McDonald's in Idaho Springs, where Dean eagerly ordered himself three quarter pounders with cheese and a coffee shake. Much to the angel’s disappointment not only was the shake machine broken, but this particular McDonald's hadn’t sold a shake in coffee flavor since 1988.

Castiel watched on in amazement as Dean inhaled his first burger, chewing inelegantly with his mouth open and making noises after every other breath. “Don’t tell anyone I’m doing this,” Dean commanded, though the underlying threat was diminished somewhat by a pair of frankly ridiculous chipmunk cheeks and a spot of ketchup smeared at the corner of his mouth.

“Angels aren’t supposed to eat?” Castiel asked conversationally, noisily chewing through his own burger. He touched the parking brake with his knee just to make sure that he had, in fact, put the car into park. The McDonald's parking lot was nearly empty at this time of day but, still.

Dean shrugged and sucked a bit of sauce off his thumb. Anna used to say that Castiel was the most graceless eater on the planet, but Dean could definitely give him a run for his money. “No rule against it, but it’s super unprofessional,” he replied. “I’m supposed to be here on business, dude.”

Castiel popped the top off of his soda and guzzled some straight from the cup. “You don’t need to eat,” he stated. “You do it because you want to.”

Dean frowned at him. “Yeah, so?”

“So nothing. It’s just interesting. You’re interesting.”

Dean didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. He looked up with wide eyes and then looked back down just as quickly, turning a curious shade of pink as he unwrapped his second burger. They ate the rest of their meal together without talking until Dean clicked on the radio again; he seemed to have made it his personal mission to balefully ridicule any and every pop song that met his ears, despite Castiel’s insistence that some of them were actually kind of catchy. He went quiet with contemplation as the first notes of a Taylor Swift song filled the cabin.

By the time they hit Grand Junction, Castiel’s eyes had started to droop. The headlights in front of him took on a celestial quality, shimmering and blinking at him in the dark. He drifted a little in his lane, yawned, and futilely tried to stretch his legs by scooting up a little in his seat. Dean watched on with pursed lips, dreading the inevitable.

“I think we should stop for the night,” Castiel posed.

“I could drive.”

“I think not,” Castiel snorted.

Dean groaned. “Fine.” He leaned his elbow on the windowsill, smushing his cheek into the palm of his hand.

Castiel tried not to stare. Dean had unbuttoned the suit and loosened the tie a few hours ago, and the column of his throat shone golden in the industrial glow of the streetlamps. Green eyes blinked slowly, long lashes dipping to kiss freckles in multitude. Holy and almighty light was barely caged behind those eyes, simmering and leaking through the cracks. It was nearly impossible to look away.

Castiel turned his eyes back to the road.

The Ramada just off the highway never overcharged him for bloody sheets or anything when he’d stopped in before, so Castiel harbored a kind of misplaced affection for the place. He pulled up front and booked a room while Dean fiddled with a stack of brochures in the background, trying to look inconspicuous. For all his unpleasant mannerisms, Dean actually had a fairly good grasp of human subtlety – probably more so than Castiel himself did – and blended in naturally among the others in the lobby. The only thing that threw him off was the large sign above the check-in counter loudly proclaiming, “Free WiFi!”

“What’s a wiff – a weefee? Is it weefee?” Dean asked on their way back to the car. Castiel just threw him a look and unlocked the door to their musty, ground level room.

“Do you sleep?” he asked, leading the way.

Dean pursed his lips. “Now what do you think?”

Castiel sighed and shook his head. He didn’t check to see if Dean was following him through the door.

“Since I’m assuming you don’t need to sleep,” Castiel remarked dryly, gently setting his duffle bag beside the bed he’d chosen for himself - the one closest to the door. “Don’t feel compelled to stay. But you’re welcome to the other bed if you’d like it.”

Dean peered around the room, leisurely kicking his feet and listening to the way the carpet rasped underfoot. “Yeah, maybe I’ll stick around. Catch up on MASH.”

Castiel squeezed his eyes together very tightly. “MASH has been off the air since 1983.”

Dean kicked his foot again, this time in frustration. “There is _always_ a channel that plays reruns,” he insisted.

With a sigh, Castiel leaned back into a stretch. His back popped and cracked beneath the press of his weary knuckles, and he settled into a slouch feeling a tiny bit more comfortable than he’d been before.

“I think I’ll sleep, then,” Castiel murmured, unbuttoning his overshirt.

Dean picked up the television remote and climbed onto the bed beside Castiel’s. When he crossed his arms, his dress shirt pulled distractingly across the muscle there. “I’ll keep the volume down for you.”

“Don’t bother.”

Castiel was asleep in minutes, soothed by the sound of Dean’s channel chasing and barely audible humming.

 

Heat scorched his face, heavy and searing on the sensitive skin beneath his eyes and above his lip. Castiel tried to squirm away, but the movement felt sluggish. Flames licked at his fingertips and curled around his ankles, slick and sharp as razor blades. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and kicked out his legs to rid himself of the pins and needles.

The scene shifted abruptly, and Castiel felt as though his flesh was being torn off in strips: like picking a hangnail too deep. His chest felt raw, clawed open, and yet there was no blood. No evidence of the torture demanding his attention. Every nerve fired impulse after impulse, flayed and exhausted and straining. Castiel couldn’t even find it in himself to scream. He simply laid there and let the pain consume him, futilely curling his hands into fists at his sides.

Relief came at last in a rush of cool water as he felt his body sink, sucked down under the surface. The water could have been room temperature but a deep chill still set into his bones, made him shiver and steal his breath. He welcomed it, at first. It was only after the shock that he realized that he couldn’t breathe; his next inhalation brought water rushing into his mouth, down into his lungs, clogging his nose.

Castiel thrashed, more insistently this time. Darkness started creeping in along the edges of his vision, blotting out the light above the surface that he reached for, pushing him further and further into the water. Nothing pulled at his ankles or weighed him down, and yet still he continued to sink. Panic welled up in his throat, smothered beneath the gushing water.

And just as his body began to give out on him, just as his lungs became too numb to burn anymore and inky darkness swallowed his sight, did light explode behind his eyelids and his chest began to burn anew…

Castiel shot awake with a gasp, his knees curled up to his chest and sweat beading along his hairline.

Dean sat calmly against the headboard of the other bed, his arms still crossed over his chest. Even disoriented Castiel could see those green eyes fixed on him, practically glowing in the dark. He hadn’t realized it a moment ago, but one of Castiel’s arms was outstretched along the sheets, fingertips reaching out instinctively towards Dean.

Motel. Colorado. Not drowning. Road trip with an angel.

Dean had read his thoughts before; how much had he seen? Had Castiel cried out in his sleep? He slithered further under the covers and dearly hoped that he hadn’t.

It wasn’t unusual for his fearful imagination to tumble into nightmares, regularly now that he worked and traveled alone. Those he could cope with and dismiss.

That last one, all too real, wasn’t just a nightmare.

 _Please don’t ask me to explain_ , he thought - hard - in Dean’s direction.

Still frantic and sweating, Castiel tore his eyes away and grabbed for the television remote on the nightstand between their beds. The dull light and the tinny, melodic sound of an infomercial distracted him long enough from the torment of his memories that he could find sleep again, even as he forced the volume higher and higher.

In the morning he took a long, cold shower, and Dean chose not to say anything about the night before.

So Castiel was able to ignore his nightmares for another day.

 

The sun rose higher in the sky as they moved south. Castiel even opened up a window, trailing his fingers through the dry air. “Not long now,” Dean said.

“How do you know?” Castiel murmured. Some soft indie music was on the radio, crooning gently on the outskirts of his attention.

Dean raised his head. “I can feel it.”

Castiel’s curiosity itched again, but he said nothing. He smiled fondly at the large blue sign ahead of them: _The Grand Canyon State Welcomes You._

Dennehotso stretched on flat ahead of them painted bright in red clay and sparse brush. Castiel had hunted a chupacabra around here a few years ago and he could still remember the way the rocks had scratched at his hands, the purple shadows slowly chasing the horizon line, the rich dust that clung to the soles of his shoes for days after the hunt.

“Stay on 160 for a while,” Dean said. “It turns into 89 around Willow Springs.”

Castiel knew enough about the layout of the deep south to figure out where they were going. “Alright.”

They had a little over three more hours to go. Castiel could feel himself getting hungry, but he didn’t want to stop again and make Dean grumpier. He had barely said a word all morning, and he was bouncing his knee in the seat hard enough to make the car squeak a little.

Castiel shot out a hand to steady it. Dean looked down in surprise, and then up at Castiel’s face.

“Um,” Castiel mumbled, surely turning a little red in the face. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that. You’re rocking the whole car.”

He carefully peeled his fingers away from Dean’s knee and wrapped them back around the steering wheel, white-knuckled.

“You’re lucky you’re important,” Dean mumbled back after a moment. “Woulda smote anybody else.” He shortly went back to staring out the window, this time tapping his fingers along the sill.

Castiel took a deep breath and ground his teeth together.

It was to be a very _long_ three hours. Dean did allow that same Taylor Swift song from earlier, but tuned the radio back to the oldies station whenever anything else would come on. He had an uncanny sense for when the songs would change, and Castiel couldn’t tell if that was something angelic or whether he just had a natural ear for music. He gave the appearance of being well-traveled.

A great pile of red rock loomed ahead of them, wound around by cracked asphalt.

“Ta-da,” Dean said, gesturing.

Castiel slowed the car to a crawl and frowned skeptically. “Hundreds of hunters have been here before,” he said. “There is nothing supernaturally significant about Bell Rock.”

Dean grinned. “That’s what _you_ think.”

With a sigh, Castiel coaxed his car towards the mountain. “We’ll have to hike,” he explained. “I wish you had told me earlier. I would have packed more provisions.”

With a scoff, Dean threw open his door. “You’re rolling with an archangel now, Cas. There ain’t nothing you need that I can’t get.”

He raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but followed Dean out into the heat of the day nonetheless with a gun tucked into his waistband.

Quite a few people had gathered along the base of the rock, and Castiel could see still more scaling the slide area to the south, small blots of ant-like people further up the central spire. Most were hikers, far better prepared for the trek than Castiel was in his heavy boots and torn jeans, but many had set up small sites in the dirt with their palms pressed together. Some swayed and murmured to themselves. One woman held a split stick in her hands, pointed straight out in front of her.

Dean took one look at them and scoffed. “Hippies.”

Castiel frowned and stuck close behind Dean as they approached the mountain. “What are they doing?” he asked.

Dean sighed, like the question was an imposition. “This spot is a power vortex. The energy pull’s so strong that even humans can sense it.” He nodded in the direction of the woman with the rod. “Freaks like her try to tap into it.”

Castiel frowned. “Does it do anything?”

“Nah,” Dean replied. “Ley lines run through here. Ancient trade routes, networks for the old gods. They left a long time ago, but those pathways are still open.”

Castiel breathed in the dirt, the moisture, the faint tang of sage. No wind at all blew through the desert, but the air still felt cool. Something otherworldly about the place did make the hairs on his arms stand up, and he knew that Dean had to be telling the truth.

“You shouldn’t mock them,” he found himself saying.

“Huh?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “For expressing their faith. You shouldn’t mock them for that. You can’t blame them for wanting to be closer to their gods.”

Any trace of warmth that Castiel might have uncovered on their journey in Dean’s face vanished; the kindness in his eyes that made him look more human melted and recrystallized into something bitter, so there was no doubt just what it was that Castiel spoke to.

“Closer to God. Right.”

Dean’s eyes unfocused slightly, fixed back over Castiel’s shoulder.

He set off down the hiking path without another word, and Castiel took care not to follow too closely behind him.

They spent all day circling the mountain. Dean would duck his head into the wind and stand perfectly still, listening or feeling the energy around him or something. Castiel watched and followed, but he said nothing. The amulet didn’t do a thing, no matter what part of the rock they decided to stand on or who they lurked silently behind.

For days it went on, following civilians up to the peak of the mountain, peering beyond the veil in passed-over moments. Castiel quietly rationed out what he had stocked in his cooler, unwilling to disturb Dean’s work. He was never called to do anything but sit and wait.

On the fifth day supplies had run dangerously low and they had seen no results to speak of, apart from one rather impressive lightening storm. By the time the sun finally started to set, they had managed to work their way back down to the bottom of the rock for the umpteenth time. Dean stood still in the center of the slowly emptying trail with his head tipped skyward, but Castiel gave up in favor of sitting in his car. The sun was giving him a headache; he was already squinting enough that his face hurt. Any park personnel patrolling the area mysteriously passed over them, eyes glassy and unfocused if they stood too close to Dean.

The angel didn’t move from his post on the trail even when Castiel turned the keys in the ignition. His hands didn’t so much as twitch as Castiel pulled out of his parking space and swung the car around in a K turn. He didn’t visibly react with any distress, and he didn’t need to. Castiel merely turned the car around and popped the trunk, removing a ratty blanket to drape along the back seat for a nap. The stars had started to come out, and the temperature dropped rapidly once the sun went down.

Castiel kicked his boots off with a clatter into the footwell and hissed as his socks peeled away from popped blisters, earned from days of hiking in aridity. As he flexed his feet and rolled his neck, he turned to look out the back windshield. Dean’s back was to him still, his head tipped gently up to gaze at the top of the rock. Still, no wind. All was quiet.

Something about the way that he stood - tranquil, expectant, vigilant - struck Castiel in that moment as childlike. He didn’t twitch or tap or fidget the way that he had in the car on the way there. He kept his eyes skyward and sighed to no one but the witnessing rocks.

Castiel fell asleep like that, in the back of the car in yesterday’s clothes and feeling sorry for an archangel without knowing why.

 

When Castiel stirred awake again, the sky was littered with lights. Galaxies, stars, burning up millions of miles away. _Some of those lights might even be angels,_ he thought.

Dean hadn’t moved an inch since the last time he’d checked.

Castiel blinked hard and stretched, rubbing his eyes. “Dean,” he murmured.

Dean’s head turned minutely in his direction.

“Nothing’s happening,” Castiel said, grumpy and impatient. “Nothing is _going_ to happen.”

Dean turned his head away. He didn’t say anything in response.

Castiel had no way of knowing what it was that Dean was looking for out here, had no right to know and hadn’t even dared to ask the question, but from the way he stood staring at that rock Castiel knew it was something he wasn’t going to let go of easily.

“Dean,” he called again, gentler.

Dean’s shoulders slumped. He dipped his head.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice rough and hoarse. Castiel barely heard him with the distance between them.

“We should move on,” Castiel suggested.

Dean stood there for a minute more. A week's worth of fatigue seemed to settle around him all at once, as his shoulders drooped further and his hands uncurled at his sides. Defeat clung to him like a dark cloud, and Castiel pitied him. Watching hopes get dashed before your eyes never gets easier, no matter whose they are.

“Ok,” Dean said. He nodded to himself and turned. “Ok.”

Castiel stepped out of the back seat. The dirt was still warm under his bare toes, the rocks sharp and unforgiving. Dean walked back to the Continental with his head down. He took his time.

Castiel slipped into the driver’s seat. He waited for Dean to settle into the passenger seat beside him and he started the car. The rumble of the engine was the only sound for miles.

Maybe nothing at all was the best thing to say, but as they pulled away from Sedona leaving Bell Rock behind in the rearview, Castiel couldn’t help but think that he should have said something, anything, as comfort. Dean stared out the windshield and Castiel couldn't even see his chest rising, so he kept his mouth shut anyway.

He drove without asking Dean where he wanted to be driven. If Dean had another place in mind, he’d speak up eventually.

 

“What is it that you’re looking for, exactly?”

Dean froze where he was, mid step in the middle of their motel room with an empty pizza box in his hands.

“What makes you think I'm looking for something?” he asked after a minute. There was nothing accusing in his tone, nothing that suggested Castiel had a reason to fear him for asking. After Sedona, Dean snapped at him less often. Knocked down a peg and made more humble after his failure, perhaps. Doubtful and self-conscious.

Castiel tilted his head and pretended to think. “The aimless wandering?”

Dean rolled his eyes and folded the pizza box into the trash. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“That isn't what I asked,” Castiel reminded him.

Dean threw up his hands. “Fine. You really want to know?” He took a breath and put his hands on his hips.

“Yes,” Castiel insisted.

Dean licked his bottom lip slow and considering.

“I’m... I’m looking for my father.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Your father."

With a dry huff of laughter, Dean replied, “Yeah. The big man himself.”

His heart rate sped up a tick, and fully aware that Dean could hear it Castiel reached up to touch the hard edge of the brass pendant around his neck. “And this amulet -”

“Glows hot in God’s presence,” Dean told him. “But it won’t work for angels.”

Castiel nodded. “I see. And these places of faith -”

“Figure we got the best chance of finding him there,” Dean said with a shrug. “Sacred sites, people calling out to him. Thought maybe somewhere he’d answer.”

His emotions were mixed at best. Castiel exhaled. “Well thank you for telling me.”

Dean waved a hand dismissively over his shoulder, and that was the end of it. Castiel wouldn’t pressure him for much more. Dean, like an onion, needed to have his layers peeled back slowly, not clawed at and torn off all at once. Besides, he wanted time to think about the prospect of God alive and on earth by himself before opening himself to any more life-changing revelations.

“So where are we looking next?” Castiel asked, putting his discomfort aside for the moment.

Dean pursed his lips. After a minute, a smile spread there across his mouth. “How do you feel about Washington?”

“They have good seafood,” was Castiel’s reply, and Dean settled that matter with a small laugh.

“I guess we can leave tomorrow,” Dean conceded, flopping down on one of the mattresses in their room. He crossed his arms behind his head and wiggled into the mattress.

Castiel frowned. “You don’t mind?”

Dean shook his head. “Pft. Why would I mind? If I’m going to be stuck here for a while, I might as well enjoy it.”

Dean’s smile wavered ever so slightly, but it was enough for Castiel to understand. That same unsteadiness at Sedona had worked its way into Dean’s shoulders again, the same bleakness edging into the corners of his bright eyes. _Perhaps angels are a little more human than I thought,_ Castiel considered.

If Dean was listening in on his musing, he gave no indication of disagreeing.

 

Dean volunteered to check them out while Castiel loaded up the car. He didn’t like the mischievous twinkle in his eye, nor the sly way that he directed it at the woman working the front desk, so Castiel let him go and instead made himself comfortable in the front seat.

He didn’t look up from his phone, where he was furiously typing away, as Dean returned. “For what it’s worth, I doubt this will work anyway,” Castiel said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You always been this cynical?”

Castiel shrugged and continued typing, but said nothing more.

Dean leaned over the center console, not used to being ignored. “What’s that?” he asked. He pointed to Castiel’s phone, unintentionally smearing a fingerprint along the screen.

“An emoji,” Castiel told him, flat and monotone.

Dean frowned at it. The iPhone was a mystery he had not yet cracked. Last time he had seen a 'cell phone,' it was the size of a small dog and came with an antenna. “What’s it do?”

“Convey wordless emotion.”

Dean leaned back in his seat. “Huh. So we’re back to hieroglyphs already.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose so.”

An annoying beam of sunlight hit Dean right in the eye, just out of range of the visor. Judging by his clipped answers, Castiel didn’t seem keen on holding a conversation.

 _This road trip sucks_.

“Who are you texting?” Dean pestered.

Castiel’s head tipped back against his seat in exasperation. “Claire,” he said, like the name would mean something to Dean. “I, um. Killed her family,” he sheepishly admitted. “Inadvertently.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Wow. How’d that happen?”

“Demon possession gone wrong,” Castiel muttered, before tapping out backspace several times.

“And now you feel responsible?”

Castiel shrugged. “She doesn’t like me very much. I remind her of her father.”

Dean blew out a breath. “Everyone’s got Daddy Issues. I hope she comes around, anyway.”

“Thank you, Dean,” said Castiel. He dropped his phone into the center console and pulled out of the parking lot.

It pinged about five minutes after they had gotten onto the highway. Dean offered to read it to him, but Castiel advised him to leave it. He’d take a look when he had the time. Dean watched his expression closely for the next few miles, trying to work out his true feelings on the matter, but getting Castiel to reveal any personal information was like trying to wring blood from a stone. His thoughts, too, were quiet but tumultuous. He’d adapted quite well to Dean’s presence in the short time that they’d known each other, but he doubted that Castiel was intentionally keeping his thoughts obscured. This was just one of the many odd and fascinating ways that Castiel worked, in formless color and intense feeling.

“Will we be inspecting more rocks in Washington?” Castiel asked, cracking his neck absentmindedly from behind the wheel.

Dean smiled. “Ding, ding. Petroglyphs on the Columbia River.”

Castiel’s mouth twitched. “Oh, goody.”

“Hey, you should be thankful,” Dean said, only mocking at sternness. “Most people don’t get to see what you see.”

“They should be grateful for that,” Castiel said, a melancholy lilt to his words.

“God, you’re depressing,” Dean muttered, putting his cheek in his hand. “You ever get tired of this woe-is-me, all-by-my-lonesome shtick?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Yes,” he snapped. He shut his jaw with a hollow ‘click,’ and his eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t meant to say what he did.

He cleared his throat. “But that is, unfortunately, the reality of my existence.”

A familiar darkness lurked in Castiel, gnawing at him, coloring every decision that he made. “Sucks to be you then,” Dean sighed. Castiel shook his head - _not really, not always_ \- but didn’t bother arguing the point.

They drove, for long stretches in silence. Castiel kept his eyes on the road, spacing out, but in this long-haul trance he could still appreciate the view in his periphery - low rocks giving way to trees and mountains as they hiked further north.

“Man, I love cars,” Dean said at one point, unsolicited and leaning back into his seat. “Most angels just think they’re slow, but I don’t know. I think they’re cool.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m glad you’re not finding this too irksome.”

“Maybe at first,” Dean mused. His contemplative expression slowly turned into a smirk. “Not like you can blame me though, in this hunk of junk.”

Castiel physically recoiled. “There’s nothing wrong with my car,” he firmly stated.

“No, of course not,” Dean replied politely. “Just ugly as sin.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but Dean’s cheek lifted in a grin. “Well it’s a good thing you’re not driving. I wouldn’t want your reputation to suffer,” he sniffed.

Dean grinned and nudged Castiel’s arm with his knuckles. “Well thanks, Cas. You’re a real pal.”

Heat spread up Castiel’s chest at the contact, and it got so bad that he actually had to check to make sure that the amulet hadn’t started glowing while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Oh, dude!” Dean exclaimed. “We gotta go to Eugene!”

Castiel frowned, already mentally recalculating their route to account for the new request. “What’s in Eugene?” he asked.

“World’s biggest rubber band ball.”

Castiel blinked, processing. “You’re an ass,” he declared.

“Cas. No, Cas, I’m serious. I want to see it. Please take me to see the rubber band ball.”

“Just fly yourself there,” Castiel muttered, frowning only so that he wouldn’t start laughing. He found himself fighting that impulse more and more often as they went along, from Dean’s running commentary on vanity license plates to his off-key singing in time with the pop station. He allowed one small smile when Dean pointed at a road sign that said _Boring_ and laughed, “Look, it’s you.”

“Yes, the dear Oregon of my youth,” Castiel sighed, wistful with faux nostalgia. “Where everyone eats unseasoned chicken and has sex with the lights off.”

Dean howled with laughter, and Castiel looked on proudly as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Once they crossed the state line, the spell of camaraderie lifted and Dean remembered his purpose, clearing his throat and instructing Castiel to take an exit. _Temani Pesh-wa Trail._ Castiel's own smile dropped as Dean sat up and straightened his tie. He wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a seriousness about Dean’s demeanor that demanded respect and cooperation.

Business, then. Back to business. Right.

The water of the Columbia River and his car were practically level, and Castiel couldn’t help tensing in his seat as he glanced at the river out of the corner of his eye, speeding along the inlet with a phantom ache in his lungs.

A touch on his shoulder startled him back to the present. Dean’s eyes were soft and kind when he met them, pity and understanding swirling deep and sincere there.

So Dean had seen his dreams.

Castiel guiltily tore his eyes away from Dean’s, focusing back on the road, but he did feel safer, somehow. Steadier. Despite his flippancy and his single-mindedness, Castiel had seen enough of Dean's serious side to trust that at the very least, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them. There was probably nowhere in the world that Castiel would be better looked after.

He wondered, absurdly, if he was well on his way to calling Dean a friend. Self-consciously, he realized that this was the most time he’d spent with another person since Anna died. It wouldn't be too terrible if Dean stuck around longer, he decided.

He steered the Continental into a gravel parking lot facing a steppe. Pine trees swayed hypnotically before the plateaus in a cold breeze; fat and heavy clouds blocked out the sun they’d left behind in Arizona. Castiel pulled his overcoat from the back seat and huddled into it, hair mussed by the seaside wind.

“Come on,” Dean called, already several paces ahead. “This way.”

They followed a paved path through the trees, fenced in and quiet. They passed only one or two joggers, and otherwise made very little conversation. All around them, shapes peered out from the rocks - in the corner of Castiel’s eyes stared the constant, unblinking gazes of the past, hidden in plain sight from time itself as scraggly vegetation grew up around the edges of the carvings.

“Spirits are tied to the rocks,” Dean told him. “It’s all that’s left of their lands.”

Castiel ducked his head deeper into the collar of his jacket.

He kept his head down as Dean led him through the ruins, checking the amulet periodically. Nestled in the folds of his shirts, it stayed the same color as always. Castiel frowned at it.

So God was alive, he'd found out. Just how many places had He left abandoned?

“There She is,” Dean said suddenly, tearing Castiel from his thoughts. “Come on, buddy. Time to do a little off-roading.”

He offered Castiel his hand with an impish smirk, the kind that got Castiel’s heart pounding in double time. He took Dean’s hand without a word and hauled himself over the wooden fence stuck between them and the idols of old.

Castiel followed Dean up the incline of the craggy rocks, disturbing the soil with his shoes and feeling enormously out of place. Like Sedona, this heavy feeling of power saturated the area and made Castiel’s hair stand on end. Deep sadness and sobriety gave him pause and stole his words away.

He respected the lost as best he could with his silence.

Lost in the tidal wave of feeling, wandering blind, Castiel nearly ran into Dean’s back. Confused, he looked up only to find himself staring into a pair of wide, carved eyes, yellowing in the brick-red rock.

Ice gripped Castiel's heart, and he couldn’t help stumbling backwards. Fixed on the carved surface of the rock, Castiel’s eyes began to water. Fear, cold and sudden, and a sense of foreboding that he could not explain consumed him.

Dean laid his hand upon the carving. Its shadows shimmered beneath his palm.

Castiel could not have possibly explained what transpired between Dean and the spirit. There were nearly cosmic shifts in the air, enough to spread a slight trembling up through an angel’s fingers. But though he said no words, Castiel still heard a voice in the dead space between seconds. A woman weeping and wailing with the wind.

 _He isn’t here. He’s not coming,_ She said. _He won’t ever come. We are doomed and forgotten. We are suffering._

Dean jerked his hand back and growled, a scream building low in his throat. With the sound of thunder cracking, he disappeared.

Castiel looked around, but Dean was nowhere to be seen. Nothing but the trees made a sound. At a loss, for a while he stood transfixed, puzzling over the voice he had only heard moments ago.

In his life, laying spirits to rest meant freeing them from the ties of this world, burning them out of existence so that they felt their mortal pains no more. He had never wished so genuinely for the power to do just that, but he was also well aware that some scars can not heal.

Hesitantly, he placed his hand over the spot that Dean had touched.

“I hope that peace comes to you,” he said, and even that felt woefully inaccurate. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

His sense of the place did not change. One outsider’s words could not atone for centuries of hardship and loneliness, nor did he expect them to.

He turned away from the face in the stone just as unsettled as he had been when he’d arrived, and yet he’d changed somehow too. Anger, unjustified, rose hot in the pit of him to chase away the bone-chilling sorrow.

He walked back to the car alone. There was no one around, no sounds but the gentle lapping of the water on the rocks. Dean wasn’t waiting in the passenger seat like he had been in the alley all that time ago.

 _Fine,_ he thought. _Let him have his tantrum._

Castiel did scold himself for having the thought. He could not imagine how Dean must have felt after hearing the spirit’s dismal words; he only knew his own bitter disappointment as a point for comparison. He climbed into the driver’s seat with clenched teeth and slammed the door behind him. He sped over the water-level road again, but he forgot to feel afraid.

He contemplated tearing off the amulet and throwing it out the window to be lost forever in the shifting tides. Surely someone else would find it again one day, not that it would matter. God was nowhere to be found and there wasn’t a plan for any of them stranded on this world. All their suffering was for nothing.

Instead, he just grit his teeth and drove himself to a motel, where Dean could find him if he wished.

Without bothering to order himself any food, he got into bed and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths through his nose.

His thoughts spun away from him like a twister, dark and unfathomably deep. _Alone, alone._ God, the weight of those words.

 _No one will miss you, no one is left to mourn you now,_ he recalled thinking himself once. He saw himself standing on a shoreline in a memory, younger, grief-stricken and hopeless, lost and empty.

_You might as well walk into that reservoir and never walk out._

And so he had, in a moment of weakness.

“Useless.”

The voice behind him didn’t come from Castiel; he turned his head to look. Dean had knocked over a lamp and glass splintered into the carpet, like tiny, perfect tear drops.

Castiel rolled back around, sighing into his sheets.

“Hey,” Dean snapped. And then again, gentler. “Hey. Cas?”

He didn’t answer. He shut his eyes against the voice.

Dean sighed. Castiel could hear the way that he drew his hand down his face and swore softly. “Cas, come on,” he murmured, approaching the bed. “Don’t beat yourself up, man.”

The mattress dipped with Dean’s weight. He bumped his hand up against Castiel’s hip. “At least take your shoes off,” he implored.

Castiel took a deep breath, savoring the taste of clean air, and ignored him.

Dean got up from the bed with another sigh, but he thankfully didn’t try to talk again.

Castiel dreamt of drowning again, as he knew he would after a day like that. He choked on tears falling from eyes made of red rock.

Just like always, something unexplainable pulled him back to the surface in a flash of light just when things started to go dark. He had to admit with some reluctance that his hand was once again stretched out towards Dean over the covers.

Why had he been saved, of all people?  _Where is the justice in that?_ he wondered.

So slowly he could believe he dreamt it, coarse fingers brushed along the back of Castiel’s hand. He closed his own protectively around them and fell back asleep, guilt weighing heavy on his heart.

 

The angel had bought him breakfast. A styrofoam container of eggs and perfectly crisped toast sat on the nightstand, alluring and fragrant. Castiel sleepily accepted the gift, running a hand through his tired bedhead.

“Sorry I disappeared on you yesterday,” Dean grumbled, embarrassed but trying to hide it. “Not cool.”

Castiel nodded and pushed his eggs around with his fork. “It’s alright,” he assured him, honestly believing it now that he had a clear head.

Dean itched at the back of his neck and huffed. “I thought, maybe, you know, if I tried calling him… But, uh. Nothing.”

Castiel tucked the container of eggs closer to his stomach - they were perfect, and still steaming - but he had nothing to lose by being bold. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, lifting his fork again.

Dean clenched his jaw. “About what.”

“About why you want to find your father,” Castiel explained slowly.

“No.”

“Tough," Castiel grunted, shoveling in another mouthful of food. "Talk.”

Dean quirked a small, sad smile, at the carpet. “You’re not going to like it,” he promised. “I probably shouldn’t even be telling you.”

Castiel swung his legs around the edge of the bed and leaned forward, setting the eggs aside. He briefly entertained the notion of patting Dean’s knee, so close to his own now, before deciding against it. _Holding hands in your sleep is weird enough._ "Whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't the end of the world," he consoled, wiping some grease from his mouth.

Dean looked up then, and he remained guiltily silent.

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up, up, up, along with his heart rate. His breakfast stuck like glue in his throat. "The end of the world?"

Dean winced. "I'm working on it."

His story spilled out in fits and starts, aborted attempts at explanation and apology in equal measure. “Lucifer will listen to him,” Dean said. “If I can just get him to step in -”

Castiel blinked. "Lucifer," he repeated, slowly, testing the word out in his mouth.

"My brother."

"The devil," Castiel clarified, just to be sure he understood.

"He's not the - hey! Be nice," Dean barked. "I'd rather you just call him 'Sam' if you're going to be an asshole about it."

Castiel frowned. "Why Sam?"

"His true vessel. A technical support employee named Sam Wesson."

Castiel almost smiled with the absurdity of it. "Right. Ok. Sam, then. And Sam wants to bring about the... the apocalypse.”

Dean frowned. “It’s not his fault,” His voice was tender, far more than it had a right to be when defending the harbinger of doom. “He’s a good kid. Even Dad knew. He chose Sam to hold this - this key for him, but it changed him,” he said. He licked his lips and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “It weighed him down and Dad punished him for not being strong enough by locking him up.”

Castiel tilted his head. That certainly wasn't the Bible story he'd heard in Sunday school.

Dean hung his head. “Lucif- Sam’s got… he's got so much anger, you know?" He spoke of Sam truly as though he were a little brother, someone he cared deeply for. He had never mentioned other angels before, so this must be close to his heart. “Someone's got to put him down, and it's not going to be me,” Dean said, determination smoldering away in his expression. “And kicking Sam’s ass means destroying the world in the process so, really, I'm doing you all a favor. You're welcome."

Castiel leaned back, curling his fingers into fists pressed tight against his thighs. He cleared his throat. "And you want to find God so he can, what, Dean? What do you expect to happen?"

Dean rapidly bounced one leg up and down, shaking the bed. "I want Dad to take that stupid Mark off Sam’s arm!” he said, nearly a shout. “I want him to apologize, I want Sam to get his life back, I want…”

Dean sighed and hung his head again.

His voice was much smaller as he finished his thought. “I want us to be a family again."

Castiel could practically feel his heart breaking then and there. An archangel, desperate for peace and family, searching in all the wrong places: in a father that abandoned him, in a brother that would make all the wrong sacrifices. "Dean.” He said the name carefully, reverently. “It sounds like Sam has picked his side. Maybe you should just let him go."

Dean whipped his head up and glared. "No.”

“Dean -”

“You didn’t see him, Cas,” Dean insisted. “You didn’t know him before the Fall. Dad chose him for a reason." His eyes unfocused, distant, wading through old memories.

“Well, what do I know?” Castiel grumbled, eyes narrowed. “I'm just a stupid human,” he muttered, flipping the covers back. He stood and crossed the room in a few short steps.

Dean didn’t respond, and even though it was useless to do so Castiel locked the bathroom door behind him. He wearily fell against the wood and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

 _You're trying not to be mad at him, remember?_ he thought to himself. _Calm down._

He turned on the tap just to listen to it run. He dabbed some cold water on the nape of his neck, and took a few more measured breaths through his nose.

When his heart rate finally slowed and his anger burned out, Castiel cracked open the bathroom door. Dean was sitting in the same spot that he’d left him in, only he had dropped his head into his hands.

Castiel leaned against the doorframe and watched him. “Dean, if it did come to a fight with Sam," he asked. "Would you even try to win?"

Dean didn't answer at first. He didn't have to.

“I know it makes me selfish,” he murmured. “And I'm sorry about that. I am. But I can’t do it. I can’t kill him, Cas. This is my last chance at getting my brother back.”

Castiel slipped back under the covers. “I understand,” he promised. He was a brother once too, and he would have done anything short of burning down the world to have Anna with him.

He clicked on the television, but couldn’t absorb anything on the screen.

 

Since the Temani Pesh-wa spirits seemed adamant that God could not be contacted, least of all by their voices, the only thing left for Dean to do was to go somewhere else. Castiel suggested Disneyland again, and was even rewarded with a smile for his trouble. It wasn’t a great plan, but Dean could use some cheering up and Castiel was feeling nostalgic. They looped around southward, following the pull of prayer ringing in Dean’s head.

“Why haven’t we visited any churches, or temples?” Castiel asked. “When I think of worship… Wouldn’t He be more likely to reside there?”

Dean was shaking his head before Castiel had even finished his thought. “Praying at church is not the same thing as worship,” Dean told him. “And now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think Dad was ever much of a people person.”

Castiel blinked, and then laughed.

Dean watched him warily, but eventually he had to laugh a little too.

“That seems awfully ironic,” Castiel said at last.

Dean shrugged. “He told us that he made the humans to be better than us. But I don’t think he was happy with the end result.”

Castiel nodded. “That must have been hard for you,” he said.

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

Flicking on his blinker, Castiel swerved into the next lane over. He reached up quickly to itch his nose and shook his head. “To have been told that you weren’t enough for your own Father seems cruel.”

Dean sighed and knocked his forehead lightly against the window. “I’m used to being passed over,” he said, though not without sadness.

Castiel wrung his hands on the steering wheel. “That’s just ridiculous,” he muttered, loud enough that Dean would not be able to ignore it. “You’re a good angel. You have a heart and a conscience. I don’t understand how He could take you for granted the way that He does.”

Castiel’s eyes were fixed on the road in front of him, so he didn’t notice Dean turning his head away from the window. He regarded him slowly and carefully, eyes flicking up and down Castiel’s frame as if he were seeing him for the first time.

“You mean that?” he asked. He meant to just say it, for he could see through to Castiel’s truthfulness, but the words burst out uncertainly, wavering slightly in the air.

“Of course,” Castiel replied, fierce and sure.

Dean smiled and reached out. He patted Castiel’s shoulder once, twice, before withdrawing his hand. “Thanks, Cas. You're, um. You're pretty good too.”

Castiel ducked his head, not used to acknowledgments, and instructed Dean to turn on the radio. They burned a few more hours of daylight listening to classic rock and trading trivia.

Castiel had gotten used to being directionless over the years. But with Dean by his side, he was starting to feel needed again. Maybe even valued.

It was a good feeling, he thought, even as his legs went numb with driving and his shoulders began to tense up. As they pulled up to a new motel - just one more in the long line they’d visited together - Dean curled his fingers around Castiel’s shoulder once again and steered him towards reception. With a blast of white-cold grace, the ache in Castiel’s sore shoulders receded, leaving behind only loose muscle and a deep-seated contentment.

Castiel looked over his shoulder and smiled, grateful for the gift.

Dean smiled right back. The corners of his eyes crinkled.

 

Castiel only realized that he was having another nightmare once he was ensnared too deeply by it. Flashes of pain picked up from where the others had left off; water choking his lungs and his eyes going blank.

And then suddenly there was something new, something that Castiel had never seen before. He usually bolted awake after he began to really drown, but the dream didn’t end there this time. Instead, Castiel was looking down a long hallway hidden in the shadows of the water. Lightning struck overhead but sounded muffled in his ears.

He dreamt of a face he didn’t know, solemn and sad, behind the bars of a cage.

When he finally woke his heart was pounding, but not with fear. He was more confused than anything, wondering if he’d seen that face before, why it had come to him then. The whole vision left him with a strange upset in his stomach, rolling like he was going to be sick. His hair stuck uncomfortably to his clammy forehead and his hands trembled.

He had just made the decision to turn his head, to reach for Dean and for guidance, but the angel was already there. Pulled against his chest, Castiel suddenly became hyper-aware of his ragged breathing, the slight whimpering pitching forth from his mouth. With a quiet hush and a soothing tendril of grace, Dean lulled Castiel back to sleep, cushioned underneath his chin.

He fell asleep with fingers in his hair, and this time Castiel dreamt of warm hands, careful touches, and green eyes.

 

The shrill and upbeat sound of Castiel's ringtone scared him awake as it blared from his coat pocket, hung up on the chair beside the bed. He'd thought for sure that the battery had died; he hadn't bothered to charge it in days.

Dean, awake but unmoving as the sound continued, showed no intention of picking up the phone from where he laid pinned beneath Castiel’s body. Their legs were tangled together.

Castiel scrambled over the side of the bed, reaching for his jacket pocket. Dean wordlessly dug his fingers into Castiel’s shirt, holding him steady.

"Hello?" Castiel croaked. He cleared his throat.

"Hello, Castiel," cooed the voice in his ear. Soft, feminine. "Where are you?"

Castiel gulped. Some impressive morning wood pressed into Dean’s thigh, the soft material of his dress slacks. He shifted surreptitiously and did his best to ignore it, silently willing Dean not to notice. "Hello, Naomi. I’m just outside of Sacramento. Did you need something?"

Naomi hummed to herself over the line, a displeased sound that Castiel knew quite well. "I did, but you're a bit out of the way. Ezekiel tracked a djinn to rural South Dakota, but I haven't heard from him in a few days. I was wondering if you would look into it for me."

"He shouldn't be up there all alone," she added, when Castiel didn't respond right away.

Concern for his friend squirmed ugly in his gut. Ezekiel was a good hunter, soft-spoken and efficient, and always kind to Castiel when their paths crossed. "Of course," he answered at last. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you. I hear this one is slippery."

Castiel hung up the phone before Naomi could say anything else. He took a deep breath and turned to look at Dean.

"No," he said.

"We're going," Castiel told him.

Dean drew careful circles into the nape of Castiel’s neck with a fingertip. He didn’t seem to be aware he was doing it; he looked just as irritated as he had moments ago when he passed judgment. "We were kind of in the middle of something, Castiel," he reminded him. And God help him if that didn’t make him shiver a bit, even if Dean didn’t mean it that way.

"People are in danger, _Dean_ ,” Castiel argued. “Think of it as a detour. We can cover a lot of ground, and we haven't even looked in that direction yet." He could see Dean losing steam.

Reluctantly, he sighed. “Fine. You want to get going? Your pal Ezekiel doesn’t sound like he’s doing so good up there.”

Castiel sighed and rolled off of Dean, knuckling at his stinging eyes. “Yes, I think we should go,” he said. He really wasn’t keen on moving too quickly, exhausted from a long night of fitful sleep, even though Dean was right. He could feel the angel giving him a peculiar look just beyond his field of view, one that he sincerely hoped didn’t come from poking around in his embarrassingly intimate dreams.

It bears mentioning at this point that Castiel hadn’t pursued a relationship of any kind for some time now. Most of the time, he could distract himself from his crippling loneliness by helping others or watching television. Something shriveled in him after Anna’s death, and he could barely drum up interest in anything other than hunting. The last time he’d been touched by another human being was a perfunctory hook up with a foxy brunette named Meg in Waco.

These dangerous thoughts that Castiel had about Dean being more than just his friend certainly couldn’t bode well for a pitifully mortal human, let alone a reckless one with no interest in a far away future. But you couldn’t fault Castiel his dreams. There, at least, he could indulge the impossible.

Almost down to routine at this point, they got on the road within a span of twenty minutes with a Dunkin Donuts box and a road map spread between them. Castiel chugged his large coffee and hastily accepted when Dean nudged his own in his direction. In return, Dean commandeered most of the cinnamon donut holes. They did not speak about the night before or the compromising positions they woke up in.

“This newspaper says the last person disappeared around Edgemont,” Castiel recited, thumbing aggressively at his phone screen. He gently guided the steering wheel into place with his knee as tried to key in his next search term. “Probably hunting around the National Park,” he muttered.

Dean reached out and grabbed the steering wheel. “Jesus, get your nose out of your fucking phone,” he snapped. “Do you _want_ to crash?”

Castiel cast a bewildered look at his passenger. “I’m fairly certain that you wouldn’t let anything serious happen,” he replied. He let his phone screen go dark anyway just to appease him.

Dean sputtered. “Don’t rely on me like that. What if I wasn’t around? How have you even survived this long,” he muttered, retracting his hand when Castiel smacked it away.

“I’m a competent hunter,” Castiel told him blithely, clicking on the radio. He handed his phone over to Dean. “You look it up, then.”

Dean took the phone from his fingers, smearing donut grease all along the screen as he swiped. Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to mind, even as Dean’s constant chewing got progressively louder and more obnoxious.

“So this Naomi chick just tells you to jump and you do, huh?” Dean asked, pretending to be engrossed in news articles.

Castiel side eyed him rather impressively - with both hands on the wheel. "She's the closest thing I ever had to a..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Dean raised an eyebrow. "A mother?" he suggested, wondering at Castiel’s pause.

Castiel shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "I don't know what I was going to say."

A care-taker, perhaps. A boss. Naomi had taken him in when he was very young, taught him how to hunt, how to hold a gun. Truthfully, he  _had_ been thinking of the word “mother,” but it felt wrong to lie to an archangel like that. She had never been his home. So instead, he said nothing at all.

"An angel named Mary used to report to me," Dean told him. "She looked after us."

A soft smile appeared again, the kind that made Dean's brow soften and his eyes crinkle. "She sang to me," he murmured, dream-like, half focused and half somewhere very far away.

He shook himself out of it, and sat straighter in his chair. Just like that, the moment was gone. "Must be nice to have someone around who needs you is all."

Castiel frowned. "I wouldn't say that Naomi _needs_ me."

Dean sniffed. “Sounds like she does. First sign of trouble and she calls you? She trusts you."

Castiel huffed a laugh. “I told you, I’m good at my job. I have an impressive and diverse set of skills and you will do well to remember that,” he said. Dean scoffed, and Castiel found himself echoing his amusement. "Not that I always get to use them. One time I was called into the Adirondacks for a werewolf hunt, but unbeknownst to me Naomi had just been using me as bait the whole time. I was told to stay by the east valley and then -”

The radio suddenly blew out in a fury of sparks and whining. The car jerked to a halt and stalled. Smoke started to fill the cabin. Castiel, horrified, looked in Dean's direction.

“Dean?”

He had never seen Dean so mad.

“Are you _kidding me_?” he hissed.

Castiel held out a placating hand. "I wasn't hurt," he assured him. "I just had to run -”

"That's not the point!" Dean yelled, only slightly hysterical. "She left you out there alone! No back up! Who does that?" He did a double take over to Castiel's withdrawn face. "Holy shit, is that what this is? Is she sending you in there to draw the djinn out?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes - it would be easier to get angry at Dean than to feel sorry for himself. "I can handle it."

"You stupid fucking -"

Dean cut himself off, silent and rigid all of a sudden, before he carefully reached out and flicked on the radio. It worked just fine, like it hadn’t just exploded only moments ago. The engine restarted under Castiel’s very hands.

Castiel clenched his fists and put the car back into gear with jerky, angry movements. "Aren't you being a little hypocritical?" he griped. "You're willing to throw your own life away to save your brother, but when I do the same -"

"My life is pointless. Yours has meaning."

Castiel sneered. “If the idea really bothers you so much, you can go back to looking for your father. I will take this hunt alone, and _prove to you_ that I can take care of myself.”

Dean slumped into his seat. “You know what? You do that, Cas. Good luck.”

“Same to you, assbutt,” Castiel muttered. He rolled down the window just to have something else to listen to apart from Dean’s heavy breathing.

They drove most of the way with angry silence crackling between them. It was still better than snapping at each other, because Castiel could practically feel the moment that Dean decided to let go of his anger, like a change in the wind.

With a sigh, he said, "You're worth more than this, Cas, you gotta know that. You aren't just expendable."

Castiel pretended not to hear him.

 

As they crossed into South Dakota they passed a billboard for a dinosaur-themed road attraction. Usually Dean would have commented on such a thing, but he didn’t say a word even though Castiel could see his eyes track the slogan. His lips twitched a little before he remembered that he and Castiel weren’t on speaking terms.

South Dakota is a whole lot of nothing, which makes looking for a creature in hiding all the more difficult. Castiel spent the last leg of the journey trying to get himself focused for the task at hand rather than meditate on the ever-changing moods of archangels.

What did Dean care how he spent his life? That’s free will, that's what makes a human's life precious and special. All Castiel really had to offer the world was a few well-timed shots of a gun and a shield of a body - what would he do if he didn't have this?

They were still unofficially fighting when they checked into their motel. Castiel tossed his duffle bag on the bed without saying a word and climbed under the covers without consulting Dean about which television channel he’d like to watch that night.

“I’m going to get a head start,” Dean told him, and even that was a courtesy. “Don’t wait up or anything.”

Castiel sniffed. “Did you want to take the amulet with you?” he asked, a bitchy tone to the question.

Dean grunted and left the room the old fashioned way, by slamming the door behind him. Once he was gone, Castiel pinched his eyes shut and sighed deep enough for his chest to ache.

There was no evidence of Dean having come back sometime in the night, so Castiel packed up and went on his hunt alone, just as he said he would.

Like a good hunter, Ezekiel hadn’t left much of a trail for Castiel to follow. Historic towns were common around there for that old Western aesthetic, but a djinn wouldn’t be attracted to tourist traffic. Instead, Castiel sought out secluded plots of land, abandoned shacks that really were ruins of days gone by.

Tire marks outside one such building confirmed what Castiel had already suspected. Within range of the National Park, this dirty and forgotten settlement would make the perfect home for a wayward djinn. Castiel took his silver knife out of its sheath, dripping lamb’s blood onto the floor.

He moved carefully and without a sound. Like this, Castiel was a deadly force to be reckoned with, senses keen and poised for attack. He turned a corner in an old barn and found that his friend Ezekiel hadn’t been quite so prepared.

The man had been strung up by his wrists against a crumbling and moldy wall, emaciated and dirty and pale. Castiel dashed over and lifted two fingers to his carotid, but it was no use. No pulse fluttered against his skin, not even a faint one. The other two victims on Ezekiel’s right were in even worse shape, the skin at their fingertips shriveled and chafed and dry.

Still, Castiel took the time to cut them down, laying their bodies on the ground before stepping protectively in front of them. He’d give them all proper burials when he was finished here. He would mourn properly, he promised himself, already pushing down the familiar grief clawing its way up his throat.

A door creaked open from the other end of the property, and Castiel readied his knife.

He didn’t see the djinn leap out from behind him, and his eyes slipped shut before he even hit the floor.

 

The radio hummed just loud enough to cover up the familiar wheezing of the Continental’s engine, and the sun fell slowly behind them. Long purple shadows stretched and wove between the painted lines of the road, one by one disappearing beneath the chassis of the car.

Dean was singing – poorly, because he knew it never failed to make Cas laugh – in the passenger seat. The windows were open and the wind whipped through Castiel’s spread fingers, but not one note of Dean’s voice was lost to the rushing world outside. Castiel’s face felt warm in the late afternoon light, and from the answering smile splitting his mouth. Their hands were touching, just at the edges, on Dean’s knee.

A tickle at his ear, a soft breath and kiss of soft wild hair, a whisper of violets and mint and the perfume of clean laundry. _I’m starting to get hungry,_ said Anna. Castiel laughed deep down in his belly and suddenly they were somewhere else, someplace clean and small and beloved, and it didn’t feel strange at all that a chocolate shake sat between him and Anna like always and that Dean stole fries off his plate while the waitress asked if they needed more coffee.

It was also a starless night on the beach and Anna was splashing Amelia Novak in the dark waves, stripped down to a white bra and jean shorts, and Claire was arguing with Dean around the fire about the best way to roast a marshmallow. She would fall asleep with her head in Castiel’s lap and Jimmy would hold his hand and pray to the moon with him.

Sinking his teeth into a hot cheeseburger.

Catching his breath as he runs down an empty country road without anything chasing him.

The wafting smell of old books when he turns a page.

Dean’s fingers in his hair and his lips on his neck.

There was also a radio station full of dark laughter that he did not tune to. There was a door in the corner of the diner that he did not open. There was a shadow in the water that he did not look at too closely because he knew what he would see.

He wanted to stay there. With Dean, with his sister, with his family.

He was tired, and he so very badly just wanted this.

 

Castiel could feel his lungs shudder and convulse, thick with water or blood or mud gurgling up into his throat, and the dream slipped away between one painful second and the next.

Dean was looking down at him when his eyes finally twitched open. His hand curled into the material of his t-shirt where it was splayed open and burning across his chest. For a moment Castiel thought that he saw six wings, hulking shadows and blinking eyes roaming along the walls, but he couldn’t trust his spotty vision.

He took a couple of gasping breaths. Dean rocked back on his heels, letting out a low, relieved gasp of his own.

“Never do that again,” he ordered, gruff and unmistakably serious.

Castiel tried to wet his lips to answer, but his tongue was too dry, like sandpaper. How long had the djinn been feeding from him? “Alright,” he croaked.

Satisfied, Dean stood and held out his hand. Castiel took it and hauled himself up, shaky and weak. Dean’s touch lingered at his elbow.

“What happened to the creature?” Castiel managed to ask, when he felt a little more alive.

“Dead,” Dean replied simply. His lip curled to show his teeth for the barest of moments, with the same kind of righteousness he’d shown in the car.

Castiel nodded. He wiggled his toes in his boots, just to be sure that they were still there and working. Dean watched him run through his tally with worried, unblinking eyes.

Castiel was too ashamed to meet his gaze. He didn’t protest when Dean helped him into the backseat and smoothed his hair back from his forehead.

He pretended to be asleep while Dean drove them off into the night, snuggling into the faded leather of the bench seat and desperately wishing that he could recapture some of the warmth from his dream there again.

But the coming days only grew colder.

They didn’t speak, and if they did they exchanged only stilted words. Castiel toyed with the amulet around his neck halfheartedly, staring down at his lap. Dean kept the radio off. It was hard to tell whether Dean was angry with him for nearly dying on the hunt, or embarrassed about the djinn dream that he undoubtedly witnessed upon waking Castiel.

“I’m sorry,” he said one day. “You weren’t supposed to see.”

Dean loosened his hands on the steering wheel. “But I did,” he murmured back, apologetic.

Castiel sighed and leaned his forehead against the window.

“I can’t help it. I like being near you.”

Dean nodded slowly. Castiel caught the motion in the corner of his eye. Dean swallowed and cleared his throat. He took a shuddering breath that Castiel barely even heard.

Castiel’s battered heart thumped painfully once, twice. “Are you going to say anything?”

Dean’s mouth twitched down into an unhappy frown and his bottom lip quivered for a fraction of a second.

He didn’t say a word, and Castiel stopped hoping for one.

Highlights of their mealtimes included awkward conversation, wandering eyes, and nervous finger tapping. Dean insisted on ordering Castiel something to eat the next time they sat down together, and stared at the plate while Castiel picked at it with pale and trembling fingers. When they stood to leave, Dean put a hand on Castiel’s lower back as they passed through the door.

His fingers jumped away just as Castiel flinched in surprise. “Sorry,” Dean muttered.

Castiel wanted to say, "It's fine," but he just couldn’t get his voice to work. He quietly berated himself for jumping right then all the way back to their motel.

 

A toothbrush hung limply from Castiel’s mouth as he wandered out of the bathroom, off to unearth a clean pair of jeans from the duffle at the foot of his borrowed bed. His eyes snagged on a pair of shiny shoes, just behind the door and out of place against the dingy, matted orange carpet.

It did strike him as odd, at the time, to see Dean’s shoes polished that way. Dean kept himself neat, yes, but Castiel couldn’t for the life of him remember a time when his shoes had shone that way before. Not since that first time they’d met, probably, behind that Gas ‘n Sip.

He looked up into Dean’s face, but he couldn’t catch his eyes. Dean fidgeted where he stood, eyes darting back and forth and never resting on Castiel for more than a second at a time. He took a breath, but Castiel held up a finger.

He walked back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste, only prolonging the inevitable.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Dean tugged on his ear. “I gotta talk to you.”

Traitorous heart, always hoping for the best. “Oh?” Castiel tried to smile, but Dean’s eyes shone and his brow was sad. Slowly, Castiel’s expression fell away.

“I have to go away for a while,” Dean said. “This - this search thing. It isn’t working.”

Castiel blinked. The breath in him slipped away, ragged and raw. “How long will you be gone?”

Dean shrugged.

Fighting a lump in his throat, Castiel nodded at the floor, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. _For a long time, then. Forever, maybe._

“We’ll probably - I mean,” Dean started. “This doesn’t have to be…”

Castiel grit his teeth. “Of course,” he said, and he knew it was as much of a lie as the one Dean just told.

“You know this is important, Cas. I need a Plan B. Just -” Dean’s eyes glimmered, pleading like he was torn in two directions. “Just give me a little time.”

“Ok,” Castiel said, because what could he say? But his heart just wasn’t in it.

Dean swallowed and reached out his hand. It wouldn’t take much to bridge the gap between them, always standing too close, gravitating and orbiting each other on instinct alone. But Dean jerked back the arm he had shot out to reach across that small space, hovering maddeningly close above Castiel’s skin.

“Well, um.” Dean smiled, pained and incomplete and still unnervingly beautiful. “Take care of yourself, Cas.”

Castiel took a sad, slow breath. “You too.”

And just like that, he was gone.

 

What else was there to do but linger?

Castiel stayed in the motel for two weeks past his original check out time. In those quiet moments spent alone, he kept his fingers on the worn-smooth surface of the amulet, rubbing the side like a genie lamp. He knew exactly what he would wish for if he could. Maybe if God could appear to him, Dean would come back. Even as he had the thought, Castiel dismissed it as desperate and foolish.

His world went on turning even without Dean to set it on its course. The local news anchor solemnly reported people going missing in a nearby town, and Castiel took up arms once again. His heart wasn’t in it, but people needed his help - or at least help that Castiel was capable of providing. He laced up his boots and set out on the hour-long journey to Sheridan, Wyoming.

He barely made it through the haunting with his dignity intact. The ghost knocked him flat on his ass so hard that he scraped his palms along the gravel in the driveway and dripped blood the whole ride home. The ghost’s anguished last cries rang eerily in Castiel’s head all the way across the border, unsettlingly close to heart.

In the rearview mirror, driving around looking for a place to rest, Castiel could swear that he saw green eyes watching him. The shiver up his spine couldn’t have been just from the haunting or the nighttime chill; the very air seemed to crackle with power. And yet every time that Castiel held his breath waiting for a greeting, every time he turned to look, there was nothing there. No cheesy 70s slang, no crinkling eyes, not even the shadows of wings to speak of.

He ended up falling asleep in his car in the parking lot of his motel, perturbed and dreading the coming dawn.

 

Still alone, still lost, it took him a minute to realize that he was dreaming again. It was not a familiar kind of dream.

Castiel didn’t recognize this place.

The smell of damp was unexpectedly strong; mildew and cold stone and stale air made his stomach roll. Torchlight flickered faintly along the walls, slicking the place with an eerie, sickly glow. Nothing warm about it.

A corridor stretched on before him. Castiel put a hand on the stone and helped himself along, fingers trailing through the cold, slimy mess clinging to the mortar between the stones.

He walked for a long time, or maybe for no time at all, before the path abruptly opened up to a cliff face, to an endless and empty horizon with thunder crackling in the distance.

No, not empty.

A figure stood behind the bars of a wrought-iron cage, suspended in mid-air. There was something weary in his smile, something gentle that stood out among the desolation that Castiel had happened upon here.

Castiel approached the cage, but he did not touch. He simply peered inside. The man at the bars was taller and broader than him – large hands, sharp nose, thin lips.

Suddenly, Castiel knew where he was. He had seen this place, that face, before.

“How can I be here?” he asked Lucifer, smiling at him through the slats of his prison. “This should be impossible.”

Lucifer, in the body of technical support employee Sam Wesson, inclined his head to speak.

“Your mind was open to my voice,” he said.

Castiel supposed that could have been true, for all that had been weighing on his mind. “Dean told me that you were trapped here,” he said.

Lucifer nodded. “I am. But not for much longer.”

Castiel took a deep breath. Down there, in the pit of Hell, it smelled like brimstone and sulfur. _This is only a dream_ , Castiel tried to convince himself. But it was all so clear, right down to the individual eyelashes on Sam’s face.

“How is he?” Sam asked, his tone indecipherable.

Castiel hesitated. He had been thrown into a game he didn’t know the rules of and against an opponent he'd never met. He’d have to proceed cautiously.

“Not very well, as you can imagine,” he decided to say.

Sam smiled sadly in response. “He worries too much.”

“Mostly about you."

Sam’s face could have been carved in stone for how little it moved, how carefully it expressed no emotion, no thought in detail. Kind, hazel eyes hardened and that boyish, sympathetic grin flattened to a thin line – he looked so much older when he pulled to his full height.

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to stop,” he said, flat and past the point of sincerity.

Castiel tilted his head. “Everyone has a choice, S- Lucifer.”

Sam hesitated, hair falling into his face.

“Nobody’s called me that for a very long time,” he murmured. As if in a trance, he put his hand on the inside of his right arm and rubbed a slow circle there, over the fabric of his shirt.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed.

“Dean said something about a Mark,” he said carefully. “Is that what you meant when you said you weren’t strong enough? You can’t fight off its influence?”

Sam shook his head. “I can’t hold it in forever. It's just a matter of time. I'm just so  _angry._  I hear voices whispering to me, telling me to bring it all down, but I don’t know why.”

“You can fight it,” Castiel told him. “You can choose not to listen.”

Sam’s feverishly bright eyes turned down and away, as if in shame. Doubt appeared plain in the weary droop of his shoulders, the gentle slope of his brow. “You sound just like him,” he said. Sam closed his eyes, squeezed them tight as Castiel watched on. “He tried so hard to keep us together, once I started to lose it. Dad - I hate him for what he did to me. This is all his fault.”

Castiel didn’t really know much about the politics of Heaven, but from what he’d heard he couldn’t help but agree. He’d have liked very much to punch God in the face, quite frankly. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t take your anger out on us,” Castiel implored. “No matter how justified you may be in your anger, innocent people don’t deserve to suffer in the process.”

Without warning, Sam’s open and honest expression of hope swept away in an instant, replaced by a mocking scowl with no business on a face like that. It was as if there were two of him; the creature full of light that Dean knew - the one he’d just caught a glimpse of behind bars - and this twisted one that Castiel spoke with now.

“Why shouldn’t I? Why do I have to suffer and you don’t? Where's the justice in that?”

Castiel shook his head. He'd asked himself the very same question. “You have to hold on to what you have,” he insisted. “You have to remember who you were before the Mark.”

Sam scoffed, bitterly. He took a few menacing steps forwards, looming, intimidating, wrapping his huge hands around the bars of his cage so that Castiel could feel the warmth from his vessel, see the tendons strain against his skin. Castiel held his ground, and Sam’s gaze.

“How can I,” he hissed. “It feels like an eternity ago.”

“Your brother hasn’t given up on you,” Castiel told him. “Dean still believes that there’s good in you.”

“Dean,” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “He can’t help me. He’s fallen so far already.” He uncurled his hands from the bars of his cage and took a step back. “All he wants is for me to leave you alone. He doesn’t really care about me.” His eyes flickered, downward and wider, sad or maybe panicked. “No one does.”

Castiel shook his head, desperate to hold on to Sam for a few moments more. “He does care, more than anything. This has nothing to do with me.”

Sam stopped, still and silent as a statue. Slowly, he turned his head to regard Castiel, standing within easy reach of the bars.

His eyes glistened, his mouth was soft and sad.

“It has everything to do with you,” he said. “Yeah, maybe Dean feels bad about what happened with me and Dad. But why do you think he wants to stop me so bad?"

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but Sam pressed on, gentler than the original sinner should ever be.

"What do you think he’s protecting down here, Castiel?”

Castiel gasped into consciousness sweating and panting. After a few terrifyingly disorienting moments of panic, he realized that the heavy burn in his chest wasn’t lifting, but instead aching in a sore, raw way that came with being branded by something unbreakable.

He hastily threw open the car door and tumbled out onto the asphalt. He sucked in a shaky breath and spit, mouth feeling hot and dry all at once. For a terrifying second he thought he might vomit. He frantically dug his room key out of his pocket and pushed his way into his ground-level motel room without bothering to spot check the room at all.

He rushed to the bathroom and flicked on the light. His heart raced and skipped as he pulled off his sweaty sleep shirt.

There, over his heart, was a handprint. And this time, the eyes boring into his from behind the mirror were no illusion.

“It was you,” Castiel marveled. “That light I keep dreaming about. You pulled me from the water that day.”

Dean turned his eyes down, like his brother had in the dream. “Yes.”

“And you left this?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dean promised. “I hid it from you for as long as I could.”

Castiel dropped his shirt and whirled around, baring his teeth. “You had no right,” he snarled, crowding Dean into the corner.

He actually looked afraid as he put up his hands and retreated. Their chests were touching, Castiel’s raw skin against the stiff coarseness of Dean’s starchy dress shirt.

“I know,” Dean murmured. “We're not supposed to interfere. But it just wasn’t right to let you die. You’re a Righteous Man, Cas.”

“I was  _ready_ ,” Castiel growled, in a deadly whisper. If he were to speak any louder, his voice would tremble. “I had made my peace with God.”

“Well God hadn’t made his peace with you –”

“And you went and made me _care_ again,” Castiel heaved.

Dean stayed silent for once. No witty retort, no biting remark. Something under the handprint on Castiel’s chest cracked and heaved and oozed, wet and fresh and painful and beautiful. His eyes filled up with the feeling and threatened to spill over.

“I owe you so much,” Castiel sighed. “I can’t ever repay this. You saved my life, twice now.”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Cas.”

Castiel kissed him. He drew Dean in with fists twisted into his shirt, as close as he could get him and somehow still desperate to be closer.

Dean swept his hands up along Castiel’s back and folded him close. He kissed gently and with his eyes closed, like this was something rare and precious to be savored.

Oh, but Castiel would give him everything if only he’d ask.

Castiel’s teeth knocked against Dean’s as he pried his mouth open, tongue darting in and tasting. He inhaled sharply through his nose and clenched his hands tightly into Dean’s suit jacket, slowly dragging it off his broad shoulders. He scrabbled for Dean’s tie and yanked, dipping his head to the exposed hollow of Dean’s throat.

Dean sighed, a moan. Castiel chased the sound to its source with his tongue. His skin tasted like nothing he could dream of.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long. The other angels thought – Cas –”

Castiel’s hands crept up to frame Dean’s face. He pet along his cheeks and swept up his temples, over his ears and into his hair.

“I love you,” Castiel confessed. “I don’t think I’m meant to, but I do.”

Dean’s hips bucked up into his. “How,” he muttered to himself, breathless. And then louder, “Me too. Yeah, me too.”

Castiel didn’t let him say more. He dragged him down, down with him and they made love right there on the bathroom floor, frantically palming at each other over layers of fabric and grinding sloppily together until stars burst behind their eyelids.

Dean soothed away all his hurts, calmed him with a touch. He traced the edge of the scar on Castiel’s skin and lifted his lips to the underside of Castiel’s jaw.

Castiel rolled his body and sighed. _Michael._

“Don’t call me that,” Dean pleaded. “I’m not that guy, not with you.”

For a moment, Castiel felt guilty about what they’d done. Part of an angel would always be left upstairs, torn between peace and freedom. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Dean didn’t reply aloud, but his answering touch made his thoughts on the matter all too clear:

_Don’t be._

 

Dean reached out to take Castiel’s hand, raised it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Oh,” he said, like an afterthought. “I sent Dean Smith home.”

Castiel raised one eyebrow. “So it’s just you?”

“Has been since I got back. You know, in case you were feeling a little skeevy about the -”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” Castiel confessed. “But I’m glad you’ve absolved me.”

Dean smiled at him and nodded, a silent, "You’re welcome.”

“I spoke with Sam,” Castiel told him eventually. “Lucifer, I mean. Your brother.”

Dean nodded again. His face remained carefully blank.

Castiel refused to relent, ducking his head to catch Dean’s eyes. “We talked about you.”

Dean sat up a little straighter at that. “Yeah?”

Castiel nodded. “I think there’s hope for him,” he admitted. “You were right - that Mark is making him something he’s not.”

Dean grinned. “Glad you’re on board.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel replied, hurt that Dean could even think he would go anywhere else when he was still needed. “What happened in Heaven?” he asked.

Dean sighed, slumping into the passenger seat. “They’re making preparations for a war,” Dean admitted. “The Last War.”

Castiel ground his teeth. “Heaven is backing the Apocalypse.”

“God’s abandoned them,” Dean said, like it made sense to him. “They need someone to take it out on.”

“Surely that’s not –”

“No, it’s more than that,” Dean confessed, wiping a hand over his mouth. “Point is, not one angel sees it my way. No one wants to give Sam a chance.”

Castiel tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “Well, if nothing else, you have me. For what that’s worth.”

“It’s enough.” Dean turned to face him, eyes gentle and gleaming. “More than enough.”

So then the apocalypse would not come to be. Dean and Castiel would free Sam of the influence of the Mark, bring him to the light once more, and the earth would be left in peace. There was no room for error, or for doubt. The plans of angels meant little to either of them; love propelled them forward. Them versus everybody else, making it up as they go. Redemption in every step.

They linked hands, and Castiel drove them towards what might as well have been the edge of a cliff. He didn’t feel small, or worthless, or defenseless anymore. In the moment that he spent in an angel’s hold, he felt loved, and cherished, and important. Invincible and with renewed purpose.

Beneath the collar of Castiel’s shirt, the amulet began to glow.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that the word "spaz" has become a kind of ableist slur in recent years, and that many people object to its usage because of the stigma. Dean says it here because the last time he was present on earth was in the 1970s and the phrase "spaz out" was a common one, meaning "freak out." There is a historical basis for its usage and Castiel is not personally targeted or offended by it. If this still offends you, please let me know and I'd be happy to rework the line.
> 
> Like this prompt? Want your own? Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://www.ozonecologne.tumblr.com)


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